


Expense

by Anonymous



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Peter is 18, Pining, Power Imbalance, Sex Worker Peter Parker, author has already arranged a ride to church trust me, reference to (without depictions of) underage sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:42:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28723044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Peter blinks for several silent, panting seconds, then finally closes his mouth. He seems upset.“You don’t want to have sex with me?”“I don’t pay for sex. And no offense, but you’re like twelve.”“I’m eighteen.”“Whatever.”Tony didn’t actually forget his age, but that’s how this arrangement will work best.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Comments: 87
Kudos: 348
Collections: Anonymous





	1. A Fixed Rate

**Author's Note:**

> Please make sure you are comfortable with reading by going through the warnings! I enjoy this FICTIONAL pairing with all of its extremely problematic tropes but am fully aware of how extremely problematic those are, and this is NOT something I would ever want to see happen in real life!! Thanks!!!
> 
> As always, the tag for my anon starker fic is ['author has already arranged a ride to church trust me'](https://archiveofourown.org/tags/author%20has%20already%20arranged%20a%20ride%20to%20church%20trust%20me)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this Universe, the world never found out about Iron Man’s identity. So the Avengers never happened. So the Civil War never happened... and a lot of things worked out differently.

_Tony_

_He looks hungry_ , Tony thinks, first.

Then, he processes how attractive the guy is and that the suit he’s wearing is expensive but his haircut is cheap. And that he’s young. Way too young for Jed to be—ah.

It’s a Government-sponsored military gala, and all the big names in defense are here, both public and private. The guests are uber-rich or uber-powerful, often both, but the backdrop of democracy lends everything a classier gloss than the shit Stark Industries used to get invited to, so it’s not the kind of party where escorts are the norm. Jed is an evil son-of-a-bitch and everyone knows it, but he must want to make a couple of people particularly angry tonight.

This particular escort looks hungry.

“Stark!”

“Jed, how are ya.” Tony gives him a thin smile, ignoring Jed’s extended hand while taking in the creature he brought with him. Jed is only a couple of years older than Tony, but that still means he’s got to have at least a couple of decades on this kid. Fresh-faced and narrowly escaping the descriptor of 'gaunt', the escort has rich brown eyes and a pretty mop of wavy brown hair.

“It’s a good turnout, hm?” Jed comments. The event is packed because a couple of rich assholes are getting pointless awards for _not_ actively trying to harm the most vulnerable populations of the world–-Tony is one of the assholes, but still.

“Big Brother calls, we all gotta get in line.” In truth, he’s doing this as a favor to Pepper. “Who’s your friend?”

“Oh, this is Peter.”

“Nice to meet you Peter. I’m Tony.”

They shake hands—as he suspected, Peter is all sinew and tendon. Tony has to fight the urge to flag down a server and divest them of their entire platter of finger-foods right now.

“One would think you require no introduction, Stark,” Jed quips, looking at his companion as though to gage Peter’s reaction. And yes, there was obvious recognition in Peter’s eyes, but it was quickly tempered by politeness. “Peter’s been praising your work. Haven’t you Peter?”

“Yeah, it’s great stuff.” His voice is a bit scratchy and makes him seem even younger than Tony first thought. Early side of twenties, maybe even late teens. A part of Tony’s brain already considered and discarded the thought of calling the cops, but if he has to he is fully prepared to intervene and get this kid out of what has to be a bad situation. “I’m—uh, obviously.”

“Anything in particular about my work catch your eye?”

Peter blinks, perhaps not having expected the question. “Um. Well, your green energy initiatives are gonna save the Earth from climate change.” Oh dear, put like that... “Your rebuilding efforts housed thousands of people after the Chitauri mass casualty, a-as I'm sure you know. And the new structure of your company is redefining CEO salaries and employee benefits. Oh, and the arc-reactor core program is nothing short of a _marvel_ —uh. Stark Industries is doing lots of cool things.”

“The arc-reactor core?” Tony wouldn’t have guessed that an escort would know anything about his not-yet-publicized arc-reactor core. His extremely confidential, only-discussed-via-encrypted-starkmail arc-reactor core. Hm. “And where did you hear about that?”

Peter shrugs. “I read about it online, I think.”

“I see.” He’s definitely lying. How intriguing. “Well I’m glad you approve.”

Jed pats Peter on the lower back. “He’s a bright young thing, this guy. Watch out for him in ten years—he’ll run us both out of business.”

Peter laughs politely but, interestingly, Jed’s warning sounded sincere.

“What’s your area of study?” Tony asks him.

But they are interrupted before Peter can respond.

“Stark! Can I have a moment?”

His own CIO Phil walks up to them, and Jed puts a hand on Peter’s shoulder to steer him away. Tony notices Phil notice this, but beyond looking displeased with Jed he doesn’t comment on it.

“We’ll leave you to it, Stark,” says Jed, not even acknowledging Tony’s CIO. “Come Peter, let’s go meet some of the other, less important people.”

They wander off, and the line of people vying for Tony’s attention moves up; after Phil there are more powerful people and their spouses, groups of congresspersons, senators, independent contractors who run their businesses the way Stark Industries used to. Pepper checks in on him at one point, but he sends her back to her fiancée—he could have brought a date with him tonight if he’d wanted one, he simply chose not to. It’s easier to leave early if you show up unaccompanied, and he promised Pepper that he’d stay for the actual award but he does not intend to hang around a minute longer.

Almost an hour of mind-numbing chatter passes and Tony finds himself wondering where Jed and his paid-for companion are. He’s not going to leave this event without making sure the kid is safe—Jed’s reputation isn’t particularly savory, and while this is the youngest person he’s brought with him to an event, there are rumors...

He makes his way to the bar and doesn’t see them there either, so he pretends to be engrossed in his phone to avoid conversation, then actually becomes engrossed in his phone. According to his news feed the guy from Queens in the red-and-blue onesie saved a bus full of people last week, and it’s stupid that they still haven’t figured out his secret identity. He may need to devote more than his passing attention to it, maybe swing by Queens on his next patrol--

“I forgot to say congratulations on your award.”

It’s Jed, seemingly conjured out of nowhere.

He leans his elbows on the bar next to Tony, and the surreptitious glance Tony casts around reveals that he’s unaccompanied for now. “I’m sure your father would be proud, Stark.”

Tony toasts his glass in Jed’s direction, and doesn’t bother thanking him. Jed runs Stark Industries’ fourth (or perhaps fifth, after this year’s Forbes) closest competitor; they both know that tonight means nothing and that Howard would be horrified at the direction in which Tony has taken Stark Industries the past few years.

“Where’d your friend go?”

“You want him?”

Tony’s gut clenches with disgust, and so does his jaw.

Jed smirks; the lines around his mouth cast into particular relief by the lighting from the bar counter. He’s not bad looking, Tony has to admit that to himself—still has a full head of elegant rusty-blond hair, sharp blue eyes, and he keeps himself in shape. That’s no excuse for him to be a fucking creep, of course, but if he wanted to he could probably attract an age-appropriate version of the escort he brought with him tonight without having to pay.

“If the rumor mill is to be believed that’s not really your thing, but... I’m not stupid. He’s nice to look at _and_ he’s got a brain. If you want him, you’d better get it in before he graduates and gets a real job, and doesn’t need to trick anymore.”

Tony looks down at his empty glass, now actively working on not throwing up. “He’s in college?”

“Just started.”

He has to ask. “How old is he, Jed?”

Jed rolls his eyes and signals the waiter to refill Tony’s scotch. “Relax. He’s eighteen.”

Christ.

“He really is going to run circles around us in the industry one day,” Jed adds. “He just doesn’t know it yet.”

“Hm.”

“What? I’m trying to get a taste while I can. You can’t blame me for that, can you?”

Tony lets out a low breath. He’s done awful things in his life; inherited an empire built on war profiteering, the kind of stuff that running around being Iron Man will never be able to balance out. But that was before, and he wants to think that even the person he used to be, at his lowest point of drunken coked-out stupor, would never have taken advantage of an eighteen-year-old escort who looks like he needs a burger.

“Guess not.” He nods a thanks at the waiter who just topped him off. “Is he with an agency?”

“No. I heard about him from a personal contact who shall remain nameless.” Jed sounds triumphant. The kind of currency this conversation will afford him can’t be quantified. Tony will owe him way more than money. “I can refer him to you. Way he talks about you, he might throw in some bonuses for free. I wouldn’t be surprised.” A hint of bitter jealously tinges his smile. “Must be nice, to be the great Tony Stark.”

“Has its perks.” And then: “He’s... full service?”

“Yes. Costs a pretty penny–he’s smart, like I said. But worth it.”

That’s it. Tony swallows down the bile that’s climbing up his throat, and then pastes on a smirk of his own as he straightens. “Perfect. Where is he?”

“Bathroom around the corner. He had to make a call.”

Tony nods and takes off without another word, making for the nearest men’s. The attendant pockets the hundred-dollar bill he is handed without batting an eye, and moves to stand in front of the door after it shuts, preventing anyone from walking in after Tony.

“...so much fun! I am a beer-pong master.”

The voice is coming from the only stall that’s closed. There’s no one else in here; it’s too perfect.

“Hah, of course responsibly. Responsibly is my middle name!”

Tony leans against the pristine marble sink and crosses his arms over his chest, and knows he’s been noticed because the quality of Peter’s falsely cheery tone is edging towards panic.

“I promise. I do, I promise! Um. Gotta go, okay?” A low chuckle. “Yeah. Love you too.”

The door swings open and Peter walks out gingerly, tucking his phone into his pocket. He seems shocked to discover the identity of the person waiting for him.

“Mr Stark!” he blurts. “It’s you!”

“Sure is.” Tony nods, allowing this, as a splotchy blush blooms on Peter’s cheeks. Red looks purple in the blue light of the bathroom.

“Uh. Wow. Um, can I help you?”

Tony motions at him with his chin. “Who were you lying to just now?”

Peter swallows. “My aunt.” He tries to smile; it’s an endearing attempt, but unsuccessful. “She thinks I’m at a frat party.”

“Cute.”

Peter shrugs. “Can’t really tell her the truth.”

“That some guy who’s old enough to be your dad paid you to attend a DOD gala with him tonight?”

“Uh. I’m not confirming that.” This time, the smile is smaller but genuine. It’s unsettlingly pretty, and Tony blames Jed's disgusting comments just now for even noticing. “Gotta pay my loans off somehow.”

“Where do you go to school?”

“Columbia.” He hesitates for a second, then adds. “And I’m taking a bunch of MIT’s online modules.”

Tony nods. “Which field?”

“Biotech. Bioengineering.”

“Where do you live?”

“Queens.”

“With your aunt.” Peter nods. “And you commute every day?”

“Yes.”

The more questions he’s asked the more confused Peter starts to look.

“Is your aunt your only source of financial support?”

“...I’m my own source of financial support.”

Tony had suspected, and was afraid of, exactly that answer. “Parents?”

“Dead.”

“No uncle?”

“He died too.”

So he has no one. One person. And it’s made him vulnerable to vultures like Jed, and who knows what else.

“...Why are you asking me all this, Mr Stark?”

When Tony doesn’t respond immediately Peter glances at the door, where the translucent glass reveals the silhouette of the attendant stationed in front of it, guarding it. It’s not fear, however, that makes Peter’s appealing mouth drop open.

He looks back at Tony, eyes widening with realization.

“What do you want from me, Mr Stark?”

But it’s not an accusation.

“I want to help you.”

Peter takes a step towards him. He has a natural guileless air that he must have learned to play into, and no wonder he can charge a 'pretty penny'.

“Help me how?”

“I want to improve your current setup,” Tony says frankly. “And I’m not trying to ‘save’ you, for the record; you’re free to do whatever you want, including letting other people pay to have sex with you. I’m not asking for control over your life. I’d just like provide a bit of a cushion, that’s all.”

If he’s is going to keep doing this, Tony just wants to make sure it’s out of want, not need. That’s all.

Peter takes another step towards him. “And how would you do that?”

“Simple. I’ll pay you five times whatever Jed is paying you a night, every night, for as long as you let me.”

His pink lips form a shocked little 'o'.

It's in this moment that Tony realizes he needs to stop noticing things about Peter’s body.

“Starting as soon as you’ll let me, of course.”

“I.” Peter takes another careful step. Tony has all the power here, all the control—of the situation, socially, financially, even literally, he is taller and broader than this hungry kid—but there’s an instant where he feels cornered. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious.”

Peter’s final step brings him to a halt right in front of Tony. He looks awed to the point of disbelief.

“Jed pays me five hundred dollars a night,” he says cautiously. “And that’s not counting the, um, extras.”

“I’ll give you ten thousand. Every day.”

There’s a beat of stunned silence.

Then: “That’s twenty times.”

“Hm?”

“You said you’d pay me five times what Jed paid me, before.”

“Then let’s round it to twenty.”

Peter’s expressive eyes search Tony’s face for something.

“I... don’t think I’d know what to do with that much money.”

“Trust me, it’s not hard to find places where money can do good. I have too much of it, and lots of people need it.” _People like you_ , he thinks. And it is for people like Peter that he does this—that he’s become this person.

Since his belated goddamn epiphany after being captured Tony has found a new addiction to replace all of his old ones; the feeling that comes from doing something that is purely righteous. It’s why he puts on that heavy suit every night; he does it for the people who need his help, like this kid. And the feeling that comes with it—it’s uncomplicated, and _good_. This, now, feels good. To be able to offer Peter this—it’s _pure_.

Peter sinks to his knees.

“Wh—“

“What do you want first?” Peter asks, breathy and eager, and he leans forward—

“Whoa whoa hey, _stop that_.”

Tony stumbles backwards, sideways, _away_ , shuffling towards the paper towel dispenser and almost colliding with it. A sickening lick of desire is quickly stifled by the caliber of his revulsion, because fucking hell. Fuck. No. That is _not_ what he meant, and his heart breaks that that's what Peter assumed.

Peter had started to tip forward but his reflexes are lightning-fast and prevent him from falling flat on his face. Instead, he looks up at Tony with even more confusion. Still on his knees. Still with his jaw hanging open. Still breathing rather heavily.

Tony looks at the floor in order not to notice anything else.

“To be clear, this would be a—uh, platonic arrangement. No actual sexual favors needed in exchange for the expense.”

“...Platonic.”

“Yes.”

When nothing else seems forthcoming, Tony has to look back up.

Peter blinks for several silent, panting seconds, then he finally closes his mouth. He seems upset.

“You don’t want to have sex with me?”

 _That’s not_ —“I don’t pay for sex. And no offense, but you’re like twelve.” He’s really not, nor does he look it either, but this will work best for both of them if Tony sticks to that version of the story.

“I’m eighteen.”

“Whatever.”

Peter gets to his feet and squares his well-defined shoulders, and Tony starts to wonder if he’s offended him somehow.

“I don't understand.”

“I want to help you. I still have a few billions left that I’m trying to get rid of. That's it.”

But offense seems to have crossed over into suspicion.

“... _Why_?”

It’s a fair question.

_Why, Tony?_

Peter isn't the first escort he's ever met. He’s not the first escort he’s ever met who is in college—hell, he’s probably not even the first escort Tony’s ever met who goes to Columbia. And his first thought had been—well, the instinct to feed Peter, immediately followed by the desire to protect him. He’s done it before; helped a few twenty-something aspiring models who tried to reward him in the same way that Peter just did (and were summarily rejected as well). But the others... he got them jobs, or put them in touch with industry.

He’s never offered this type of arrangement to anyone before.

“Is it because of what I said about the arc reactor core?”

Of _course_.

“Yes.” Tony wipes his palms on his pants leg despite not actually having washed his hands for any reason. “Yes tell me; how did you find out about that?”

“I shouldn’t have mentioned it,” Peter mutters. He makes a face. “I can’t tell you.”

That piques Tony’s interest even more.

“Well, maybe in time you’ll come to trust me.”

“You’re... assuming I’ll say yes?”

Tony smirks a little. “It’s an offer that’s hard to refuse, no? _I_ think you should take it, personally. But I’d also understand if you’d rather call up TMZ tomorrow morning and tell them about this conversation instead.” He pretends to think about it. “Granted, it might make me look even more charitable and magnanimous than I’ve been lately... could make for good PR.” He doesn’t need any more good PR. He’s had all the free good PR he could ever want these past few years: the weapons-manufacturer-mogul turned green-energy-philanthropist angle hasn’t tired out yet. “Kind of a win-win for me, when you think about it.”

“I’d never do that,” Peter says. “I promise I’d never, sir.”

“It’d be your right.” Tony shrugs. “I understand that you have no real reason to trust me other than what’s in the press, but you trusted Jed, so... I suppose I just assumed I’d make it through your vetting process.”

“I vet people who want to pay me to have sex with them. You’re just giving me free stuff. That’s... weird.”

And for all that he gets why this is weird, that right there breaks Tony’s heart some more. Because Peter’s life has led him to the point where he is more suspicious of Tony’s offer than he is of a predatory asshole like Jed. And that's not okay.

“I won’t deny it’s unusual.” He’s not trying to gaslight anyone, here. “But I trust you’ve been keeping up with the news for the past couple of years? Giving people free stuff has kind of become my thing.”

 _Time_ magazine called it ‘Tony Stark’s systematic whittling of the Stark fortune’ in last year’s cover, but ‘giving people free stuff’ is just as accurate.

Peter nods, thoughtful. “Guess that’s true.” He winces. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, by the way. And I-I’m sorry that I assumed—“

“Oh no, don’t worry about that.”

“I, right, well. It’s just... it’s... a lot.”

“Of course. I understand.” Maybe he should have started with less money? There’s just something about this kid that makes him want to offer up the world, and a kind world at that. “I want to help you, Peter, not cause you problems.”

Peter bites his lower lip, an unintentionally devastating gesture.

“...Can I think about it?”

_Peter_

He leaves the gala with Jed and gets through the night with his head full of Tony Stark's offer. Jed actually stops and asks him if something’s on his mind, at one point, and Peter has to redouble his efforts in order to avoid talking about what happened in the bathroom.

His life could change completely, and it feels unreal. It has to be too good to be true. Tony Stark wants to take him on as some sort of pet project and rescue him; that’s something out of his early teenage fantasies, not his gritty real life. Ten thousand dollars a day is so much money Peter’s brain can barely fathom it; it would cover any expense Peter has, plus any that he could possibly come up with. He could stop sleeping with people for money. It would finally pay off May’s mortgage, and the debt caused by those horrendous hospital bills from Uncle Ben’s final weeks. He could move to the Upper West Side and buy time away from his endless daily commute. It would mean he could buy enough food to eat the number of excess calories he really needs every day. It would mean he could upgrade his spider-suit to be bulletproof, finally--hell, he could have multiple suits. He could help so many more people.

And Stark doesn’t even want to have sex with Peter in order to do it.

And...

And that’s just Peter’s goddamn luck, isn’t it?

*

The next morning, Peter’s day takes on an unreal quality as he struggles to reconcile his memories from the night before with his morning classes, and the two additional papers he's apparently going to have to find time to write. He sits alone at lunch and checks his bank account to make sure Jed deposited their agreed-upon amount and sees that the nine-hundred-dollar payment was made right on time—and Tony Stark’s voice glibly saying ‘ten thousand’ echoes in the back of his mind like an illicit daydream. He gets less than a third of a paper done after tearing through the meagre cafeteria portions, and knows he comes off as distracted during his afternoon lab, but he can't help it.

_Giving people free stuff has kind of become my thing._

_I want to help you, Peter, not cause you problems._

May texts him to check in and ask what he wants for dinner, but he lies about meeting up with ‘friends’ in order to patrol. He doesn't have any real friends around here anymore; Ned is in San Francisco and MJ is in Boston, but he’s lied to May about having fictional college friends before.

He’s lied to May a lot in the past few years.

He rides the J back to Queens still with his brain in a haze, and mindlessly climbs the outside wall of his apartment building, following the shadows of sunset. He opens his well-oiled bedroom window and drops his bag of schoolwork inside, substituting it for his suit and goggles for patrol.

"Peter?"

Peter's heart jumps, and he scrabbles outside just in time before his door creaks open.

"Peter, are you--oh." 

There's a beat of silence, then May sighs and walks to the window.

"Can't leave that open, kid, someone's gonna come steal our debt..." she mutters, sliding it shut.

Guilt surges in Peter's chest as he sticks to the brick wall, listening intently for her retreating footsteps with a thundering heart. When she's gone, he pulls the red mask over his face and decides to go back to Manhattan, something beyond his spidey-sense drawing him to the city.

He should say yes to Tony Stark's offer, of course. It’s probably insane that he didn’t do so immediately—but it doesn’t feel real yet.

The truth is that he is deeply embarrassed by his behavior last night. He must have come off as utterly ungrateful, and clueless to boot. Assuming Stark would be interested in him that way was a giant, mortifying mistake, and Peter wishes he could redo the scene more than anything. Stark has hordes of people throwing themselves at his feet, and those hordes have only grown in number since his infamous change of heart. Ugh. The look on his face when Peter dropped to his knees—

“Mom, mom, look! It’s Spider-Man!”

Peter waves at a pre-teen and her family and swings himself around the corner of Broadway and 34th, and in his peripheral vision the thrust of Stark Tower’s silhouette catches his eye.

It’s a staple of the New York skyline. Rumor has it Stark lives in the penthouse, and his well-documented workaholic tendencies permit him to swing down to his offices as he pleases. In fact, an intern wrote an opinion piece in the _New York Times_ about her nighttime encounter with the then-CEO of the company, and about how Stark didn't hit on her once; instead he was surprisingly gracious, generous, and willing to teach nanoparticle physics well into the morning.

Rumor also has it that Stark helps fund the Iron Man’s nighttime activities from there, though of course no one has been brave enough to openly accuse Tony Stark of that kind of vigilante endorsement.

Distracted by his thoughts, Peter suddenly has to flail to latch his newest web onto the _Wicked_ poster screen and not face-plant on the pavement.

“Okay, that was way too close,” he pants to himself, exhales puffing against the cloth, and a few minutes later he lands on the rooftop of a low brick building to catch his breath.

Which is, of course, when he gets shot.

He feels the stab of pain before he hears the sound, a sharp burst of agony in his left shoulder and then the silencer-spit of the gun, and his spidey-senses haven't failed him so spectacularly in a very long time.

Turns out, he wasn’t even the intended target— it was a stray bullet and pure chance, as a man on the street down below is clearly fleeing a drive-by. Peter leaps to the ground to stop it, and a few seconds later the unmarked van is driving right into his webbing trap and getting stuck in it.

He webs every door shut for good measure so that the police will find them conveniently ready to be arrested.

"Shit, Spider-Man! Did you get hit?”

Peter turns to the man he just saved. He could have run away during the commotion, but he didn't.

"I'm fine." The man's eyes widen and Peter realizes that his voice came out like a squeak, and totally gave away his age. He clears his throat and stands a bit straighter, ignoring his throbbing shoulder. "I'm good, man,” he growls, nearing the Batman register. “Get out of here."

To his credit, the man doesn't need to be told twice; he sprints away without so much as a 'thank you'--but Peter stopped expecting those ages ago.

Instead, he slings himself a couple of blocks away and hides in someone's rooftop garden. His shoulder _really_ hurts, but he has to check to see if there's an exit wound. He’s been shot enough times to know what happens when there isn’t one.

"Please have a hole," he mutters to himself, wincing as he twists his neck to look. He does _not_ feel like digging around his insides with tweezers, he is too tired, if the universe could just give him this one break, _please_... "Please have a hole, please have a hole..."

The back of his bloody blue shirt has an exit hole to compliment the entry on his front.

"Thank _God_."

He lets out all the air in his lungs in a sob of relief and suddenly his legs give in, knees hitting the floor.

He'll rest for a moment. He just got shot, he can take a five-minute break.

He pulls the cloth mask away from his mouth, gulping in the night air and making a mental note to experiment with better materials for breathability—when he can afford them. Seconds tick by as the sounds of New York City at night filter in and out of his sensitive hearing... distant sirens call him in northeast and southwest directions simultaneously; someone is shouting in anger four blocks away; a dog barks furiously in one of the apartments of the building across the street...

Unfortunately, as he kneels amidst this stranger's well-kept plants and fairy lights, he can't help his thoughts from drifting back to the memory of kneeling for Mr Stark in the bathroom. Stark's kind eyes had seemed genuine, but nothing in Peter’s life has been that easy. It seems insane that something so good would drop into his lap without a catch.

Because the catch certainly isn’t that Mr Stark wants to sleep with him. The disgust in his eyes when he stumbled away from Peter was real, and humiliating, and _that_ at least is in line with how things usually go for him. Of course, his childhood hero, the one man Peter would have happily had sex with for free, doesn’t want him. And maybe at some point he'll stop wallowing about that fact, but today is looking like it won't be that day.

Man, he’s pathetic.

“Get it together, Parker,” he mutters to himself. "You haven't totally screwed it up yet. Offer still stands."

Stark gave him a cell number to call when he made his decision, and there’s no doubt in Peter’s mind it’ll be his publicist’s, or one of his interns’ numbers. He wonders what Stark told them about why Peter will call. A tiny part of him is still worried that it was the most elaborate billionaire prank ever, and someone at the other end of the line is going to laugh themselves sick. He wonders if Stark wants to interrogate him about the arc reactor core—

Movement.

There’s a reflective speck heading towards Stark Tower. Something airborne.

Peter frowns and squints, his excellent vision not quite excellent enough to give him a clear sense for what the projectile is. It’s not going fast enough to be a missile—but then again who knows.

His shoulder still hurts but the new flood of adrenalin dispels any exhaustion he might have been feeling. He tugs his mask back on, jumps to his feet and starts to run, and then starts webbing his way over there, fast, faster, watching the flying object get closer and closer to the roof of the Tower, wondering whether he’s about to bear witness to the attempted murder of Tony Stark (wondering whether his moment of respite cost him the precious seconds needed to prevent it).

As he gets closer to the building the figure lands on the roof, and he realizes it’s just that; a landing. Not a projectile, but a visitor.

 _So it’s true?_ he thinks to himself, relieved and intrigued all at once. _Tony Stark is funding the Iron Man?_

He jumps from a nearby rooftop onto the 40th floor and attaches to the paneling of the Tower, this time taking a moment to tune in with his spidey-senses. Tapping into them feels like stretching an overused muscle lately--a limb that is sore, and fatigued. But he pushes himself to deliberately feel out any obvious traps, or signs that he triggered the security system.

Nothing rings any bells, so he starts to climb, careful as the nighttime breeze becomes the nighttime wind, buffeting his frame the further up he goes. His shoulder aches and his left arm feels weak, but he pushes past the pain. The steady trickle of blood has slowed to a drip by the time he's nearing the top.

The second he crawls over the lip at the edge he realizes just how colossal his mistake was.

“ _Tony_ ,” a female voice projects over well-hidden speakers. “ _There is an intruder on the roof_.”

Floodlights erupt out of nowhere and bathe Peter’s prone frame in blinding white focus.

“ _Would you like me to eliminate him_?” the female voice asks politely in an Irish accent.

“Whoa, whoa, hey!” Peter yells, rolling to lie on his back and lifting his hands in the air. “Please don’t eliminate me!”

He hears a confusing cacophony of metallic clatters and clacks, and the swish of automated doors. He can barely see past the wattage being aimed at him despite his protective goggles.

“I come in peace, Mr Iron Man, sir!”

“Stand down, FRIDAY,” says a tinny metal voice, and the floodlights dim.

Peter unsquints his eyes and blinks a few times, trying to adjust to the spots. He can tell that the large outline of a man is walking towards him, but that’s about it. The footsteps sound heavy.

“Why are you on my roof?”

“I... uh, was coming to save you?”

Things start to come into focus and Peter’s belly swoops when he realizes the massive frame of the Iron Man is standing over him, in all of its up-close gleaming glory. Mythical. Legendary. Epic. And with the glowing arc reactor in the middle of his chest.

“ _You_... were going to save _me_.”

This is bad. Peter can’t afford to be on Iron Man’s radar; the main reason he’s managed to keep his identity a secret is that he’s kept things small scale.

“I have... powers.” He has never sounded lamer.

“Yes, I recognize the fashion crime that is that onesie from YouTube and TikTok. I think I saw you lift a car a couple of weeks ago--you’re the-ah, Spider-Guy. Spider-Boy. Right? Spider... something, I can never remember.”

His voice sounds...

“Spider- _Man_ ,” Peter says.

“That’s the one.” He clicks his fingers, which makes a slick metallic noise. “Thought you operated mostly in Queens, Spider-Man.”

“I usually do.”

The impassive chrome head tilts slightly sideways, considering. His figure looms truly enormous, and would be terrifying if his intonation wasn’t starting to sound _really_ familiar.

“You sound like a boy to me, kid.”

Peter pitches his own voice at a lower register (if not quite Batman levels this time). “I’m not a kid.”

“By what metric? Because I'd like to know what the state of New York has to say about—hey."

Abruptly, a plated arm points at Peter's shoulder, and when he speaks next his tone is completely different and completely serious.

"Is that blood?”

His voice has almost exactly the same timber as—

“Kid—are you _shot_?”

And with a whirr the helmet opens to reveal Tony Stark’s concerned face.

Peter feels his mouth drop open as the Iron Man armor rattles apart, allowing Mr Stark to quickly walk out of it and drop down to crouch over Peter’s frame.

“Y-you’re... _Iron Man_...?”

“When did this happen?” Stark snaps at Peter, and he immediately sets to tearing the sleeve of Peter’s shirt open to get a look at his shoulder, palpating Peter’s bare skin with surprisingly rough hands. “How is your breathing? Is there an exit wound?”

“I—“

Stark leans forward and looks for himself, and nods at what he sees. “Okay, good. How is your breathing?”

“I—s’fine, you... you’re, you’re the Iron Man—“

“Yeah, yeah, who saw that coming.” He makes a dismissive hand gesture. “FRIDAY, please call Dr Cho, we have an emergency in the Tower.”

That command finally snaps Peter out of his revelation stupor. 

“N-no, no, I’m fine.” He squirms away from Stark’s strong grip, skin exposed to the chilly air, sleeve hanging. “I have... powers. I-I’ll heal.”

Stark blinks.

“Please. Please don’t call a doctor.”

“You’re worried about your secret identity?”

Peter shrugs, then immediately regrets it. Ow. “Such as it is.”

It makes Stark snort in amusement. “‘Such as it is’...” he echoes, and shuffles closer to Peter again, though he doesn’t touch him. “Okay. Fine, no doctors. FRIDAY, you get that?"

" _Yes, sir_."

"Will you let me patch you up, at least?”

Peter thinks about it. The odds of him staying here and not being found out are abysmal, but he could keep his mask and goggles on and Stark might not put two-and-two together. After all, in Stark’s mind Peter is a high-end escort he met at an event across the city, in a context so different from this one as to be laughable.

“I should clarify that I phrased that as a question, and I believe in bodily autonomy and all that, but I am not going to let you bleed out on my roof.” Stark’s eyes are stern, and it is profoundly stupid for Peter’s libido to take any interest in that. He’s been shot, surely that should inactivate it. “Or anywhere else, for that matter. I’ll hold you here if I have to, kid.”

Fuck.

“I... no offense, but you’d need your suit to do that. Healing isn’t my only superpower.”

“Oh I know that. But I hope it doesn’t come to a fight, because I am prepared to pin you down.” He smirks. "And not in the fun, obviously sexual way that came out, for the record."

Peter deflates. “I won’t fight you, sir.”

“Good."

He gingerly gets to his feet, Mr Stark hovering in front of him with his arms partially outstretched like he's afraid Peter's about to pass out and fall on him.

Iron Man is worried about him. _Iron Man._ The most famous superhero in the world just offered to stitch up Peter's little patrol wound. And that makes twice in two days that Peter has responded to a kind, generous and selfless offer from this man with what amounts to guarded rudeness.

"I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, by the way," Peter tells him, sincerely. “It’s just... it’s... a lot.”

"Don't worry about—“ But Mr Stark goes silent, and suddenly Peter feels the atmosphere alter completely.

He just gave away something--something he won’t be able to take back.

Stark’s inky black eyes are wide with shock, and there’s no way he... he can’t have recognized him... _already_?

“ _Peter_?”


	2. The Convenience Fee

_Tony_

It’s the way his movements are practiced, routine—he’s been shot before.

Multiple times.

A bitter taste of dread is starting to coat the back of Tony’s throat. Peter’s body is unblemished, but Tony can tell that this kid has gone through more than his fair share of violence. Whatever the fuck a ‘fair share’ of violence even means... he has been through far too much for any human being to withstand, let alone one his age. He told Tony briefly about being bitten by a radioactive spider during a high school field trip, but they haven’t exactly covered the implications of his secret identity yet. And Tony is starting to suspect that he will not like what they are, even after setting aside the stunts he’s seen Spider-Man pull on YouTube.

“And you’re sure you don’t want my help.”

“I got it. Thanks, Mr Stark.”

Peter agreed to take off his clothes and change into one of Tony’s robes (a midnight-blue one he picked out himself) to get cleaned up, and now he sits at the lip of Tony’s enormous tub with it pooled around his waist. He looks like a marble carving, the way his muscles are outlined under his skin, and not at all like a child. If it weren’t for the actual actions he is performing this whole scene would look illicit in the worst possible way, but as is DUM-E brought him the medical supplies he asked for and Tony is left to watch, helpless from the corner of the bathroom, as Peter cleans out the bullet holes in his shoulder with sterile saline.

“Oh um, where’d my suit end up?” he mumbles after a few quiet moments, head twisted to the side. A strand of hair is falling into his eyes because of the angle; he blew at it a minute ago but it just fell right back into place. “Mr Stark?”

“Hm?”

“My suit? I thought I left it on the floor.”

“That hand-stitched bloodstained disaster? I burned it.”

His head snaps up. “You what?”

“Well, I had FRIDAY burn it.”

“But.” He looks crestfallen. “But I need it.”

A stab of horrible, horrible guilt assaults Tony right in the gut. “I’ll get you something better.”

“But it was working fine.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

A tiny frown appears. “I’ve been Spider-Man for four years now, sir. I know what I’m doing.”

“You literally just got shot, Peter.”

Peter sighs and doesn’t respond, instead grabbing the suture materials. _Big whoop_ , the sigh said.

 _I need saving!_ Tony heard.

“I’ll get you something temporary as soon as possible. I’m sorry. I should have asked first.” He is sorry and he does mean it, but he’s also already mentally planning all those upgrades he’s going to gift Peter with as soon as he is allowed. They haven’t mentioned Tony’s first proposal yet—the money he offered Peter when he met him yesterday and only knew him as an escort. Tony hasn’t forgotten, though. “I thought you weren’t supposed to stitch up gunshot wounds,” he adds, mostly for something to say.

“I found it helps them heal faster, and.” A self-conscious pause. “And it helps prevent stains on my clothes. Don’t wanna make my Aunt suspicious.”

God, that’s fucking terrible. The image of this kid sneaking into his apartment through a window, washing those rags in a sink to remove the bloodstains before he throws them in the laundry... Tony might be sick.

“I see.”

When he’s finished, Peter sets the needle driver and spare suture carefully down onto the sterile platter DUM-E is carrying, and then seemingly unconsciously pets him like he’s a good dog.

Something inside Tony’s chest twinges, but he looks down and the arc reactor is glowing, active and fully functional as it should be.

“It’ll heal in a couple of days,” Peter tells him, sticking on a gauze dressing. And then, a bit more shyly. “Sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?”

“Uh, breaking into your penthouse. Using up your suture materials. Taking up so much of your time, when I’m sure you’re tired and—“

“Peter. I’m glad you’re here. I want to help you.” He stands up and walks over to him. “I’m glad you broke into my penthouse and used my suture materials.”

Peter blinks up at him.

From this angle, the dip of his collarbones is a chasm, and his muscled shoulders have an uncomfortable degree of definition; the word ‘hungry’ flits by Tony’s mind again. The waves of dark fabric at his waist also appear more precarious than before; the robe’s silk is such high quality that it’s threatening to unfurl and flutter right off those narrow hips, revealing the places Peter charges dirty old men hundreds of dollars to see.

“In fact, can I convince you to stay for dinner?”

Peter’s eyes widen. He shifts, causing the silk to slide dangerously. “Oh, I couldn’t—“

“Sure you could. Come on, follow me.”

Tony suspects it would come off as terribly entitled to ask him to re-don the robe and tie it properly, so he turns around and leaves the bathroom instead.

He listens for them and is promptly rewarded by the pitter-patter of Peter’s bare feet on the floor as he follows Tony to his open-plan living area.

“Mr Stark, I-I should really be getting home. My aunt—“

“Can wait until you’ve had dinner. Or doesn’t even know you’ve left,” Tony guesses, and is proven right by Peter’s guilty flinch. At least he’s wearing the robe around his shoulders again, though now that his wound is covered the picture his presence creates is undeniable. (Except that a picture is just that, and it would take more than a thousand words to describe the extreme circumstances that landed them here.)

“I was about to eat, c’mon. Join me. I’m dying to hear from the only other local superhero. Thought I was the big man on campus, now I see I should just retire, if you’re shrugging off bullet wounds.”

Peter snorts, smiling. “If you think I’m the only other local superhero, the YouTube algorithm has really skewed your perception of reality.”

Tony laughs and takes out a container of his best leftovers—pasta from Giovanni’s, half a Lucali pizza he’ll reheat in the oven, and he sets some Hulk-A-Hulk-A-Burning Fudge out to thaw.

Peter watches him for a moment, then hops onto one of the bar stools, crossing his legs at the ankles like it’s nothing.

“So... how does it work?” he asks him. “Being Iron Man and Tony Stark all in one?”

Tony shrugs. “I imagine having a secret identity isn’t a foreign concept to you.”

“Well... no.” A sheepish smile. “I have two, kind of.”

“Right. Well... I’m sure you’ve seen the news. Or the fancams, anyway—I can get places quickly, help people. Stop people who need to be stopped. And that’s easier to do as Iron Man than as Tony Stark, the Iron Man. Can you imagine Steve Rogers having a day job?"

Peter shakes his head.

"Right. Well, same principle applies. I'm not the CEO anymore, but I still enjoy my work, and I want to keep doing it."

He sounds like such a 'cake and eat it too' privileged asshole, telling this starving young sex worker all of this. But Peter looks bright-eyed and riveted, and next thing he knows Tony is admitting something he's never told anyone:

"I did think about just telling people it was me; back when the press still hadn’t decided whether the Iron Man was a force for good or not—during my first big press conference after being kidnapped. Hard not to want the recognition... But then I didn’t.” He has a depressing thought. “You must’ve been a toddler back then, hm?”

“I think I was ten.”

“ _Fuck_ , I’m old.”

Peter laughs, and the twinge in Tony’s chest returns—but the arc reactor still looks fine.

“Aren’t you forty-two?”

“Going on forty-three.”

“That’s not old.”

Tony checks the oven and decides the pizza is ready. “Agree to disagree, kid.”

“I’m not a kid.”

He doesn’t sound upset by the moniker but Tony hears what he’s saying. It’s in the gravity in his voice, and in the healing gunshot wound in his shoulder. It was in the possessive look in Jed’s eyes last night, too. Peter is not a kid by any definition of the word, and the legal one is the least of them.

“What about War Machine?” Peter asks after a pause.

“That’s my buddy Rhodey.” Oops. He probably should have asked Rhodes about giving away his identity. What _is_ it about this kid who isn’t a kid at all? “Robin to my Batman, so to speak. Though he likes to think it’s the other way around.”

He sets a plate in front of Peter, who smiles. “His suit is bigger than yours.”

“Size isn’t everything, Mr Parker.”

“Oh trust me, I know.”

The smile scrunches up into a _moue_ of distaste, and if Tony had the addresses of the men who put that look there he would go on a berserk killing spree tonight, so sudden and utterly devastating is the caliber of his _fury_.

“Thanks for this, Mr Stark. Really.”

Did one of them push in too quickly? Not give him enough prep? Not use enough lubricant?

“Um.”

Who the fuck hurt this kid and _where the fuck are they right this second?_

“Mr Stark?”

Tony blinks, and finds that his fist was clenched so tightly he has indents of his own nails into his palm.

The red-hot anger abates slightly when faced with Peter’s puzzled brown eyes.

“Sorry. Muscle spasm—told you I’m old. Please start, I’ll be with you in a second.”

He turns back around to grab his own plate and takes a bracing breath. He knew the world was like this. He’s known this his whole life; he just chose to ignore it for the first couple of decades, and now it’s his duty to make penance. If part of his penance is this feeling, then he should focus on all the ways he has to help Peter.

Unfortunately, it turns out the night has one more unpleasant revelation in store for him.

Tony hadn’t expected to be unnerved by watching Peter eat, but he is. Peter is polite but furtive, scarfing down as much as he can the moment he thinks Tony’s attention is elsewhere (as if Tony’s attention has been anywhere but on him since the kid snuck onto his roof). He probably should have expected this; Tony’s first thought on seeing him had been a desire to feed him, after all, but it is awful to observe the pattern in real time. It’s impossible not to associate this attitude with his recollection of Peter’s naked torso. Impossible, also, not note how too-sharp cheekbones arrow down to lips that the blood loss made an even paler shade of pink.

He serves Peter seconds (he finds a lasagna in the fridge) while they chat, and then pushes the food in his plate around until Peter is finished so he can offer him his portion, too.

Peter accepts both with a healthy shine to his eyes, his cheeks flushed by the end of the meal.

“Oh and I’ve always wondered: why do you guys never work in teams?”

“A group of superheroes?" Tony's had the thought before, but he doesn't really see that working out. "Sounds like a powder-keg with overcomplicated dynamics if you ask me. Captain America and the Falcon have their own thing going, and so do the Black Widow and Hawkeye, and I can't really see Thor playing nice with others. Plus he doesn't seem like a reliable texter." Peter grins. “It's a nice idea, just not realistic. Though I'll tell you who I'd want on mine and Rhodey's team--Dr Banner.”

He punctuates the statement by plopping down the tub of ice cream in front of Peter’s nose.

"I wish I could meet him," Peter says, automatically digging in with a tablespoon. "His Gamma radiation papers are so freaking good, I stayed up until 4 a.m. reading the one about the Higgs/Gamma interactions the day it was published."

"...You were reading Banner's research at fourteen?"

A blink. "Well... yeah." Peter's lips twitch. "Didn't you have a doctorate by then?"

Tony snorts. "I was nineteen when I got my first doctorate, buddy."

"Oh well, then."

Time flies by as they chatter idly about Peter’s YouTube fame (turns out he started uploading the videos to monetize them, of course), crime in New York, crime in, well, the rest of the world, and almost everything other than Peter’s bill-paying job. Before Tony knows it, he’s realizing that it’s two in the morning and if this kid’s aunt does wake up and check on him she’s going to panic.

“Let me drop you off,” he says, hopping off his stool.

“That’s okay, I can web over.”

“Nonsense. You got shot earlier, remember? And then I burned your suit.” He points Peter back towards his bedroom. “Grab some clothes and let’s go.”

“You want me to take your clothes?” Peter looks skeptical.

“What?” He’ll probably swim in them a little, but he’s not that much shorter than Tony, so they should serve their purpose. “There should be some jeans and sweaters in the walk-in closet by the en-suite.”

“I.” He mouths silently for a few moments. “Um, okay I guess. Thank you. Again.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Tony throws his jacket on and grabs the _Maserati_ car keys while Peter shuffles off to get dressed, and then he realizes that they’re going to have to take the private elevator to the garage in order to avoid the doorman. David can’t be expected to understand that this late night encounter is anything other than completely innocent and is, in fact, work-related.

Not with Peter looking the way he does, and clothed in Tony’s expensive wardrobe.

*

Once in the elevator, Peter fidgets with the sleeve of the MIT hoodie he picked out.

“Um, Mr Stark... about, um. Last night.”

 _Finally_. “Yes?”

“You... really don’t need to do that, sir. I’m okay.”

Tony was expecting something like this. “No one’s trying to tell you that you’re doing things wrong, Peter. And I know I don’t need to do it—I want to.”

Peter blinks silently for a few moments. The hoodie looks good on him; his shoulders fill it out nicely, even though he’s small.

“I can’t accept.”

Tony’s stomach sinks.

Peter looks as though he surprised even himself by saying it, but he doesn’t take it back.

“It wouldn’t feel right, to just take your money without, um, doing anything in return.” He blushes a little, and Tony wonders, vaguely, about the things Peter has done for cash somehow not immunizing him to something so simple as embarrassment.

“But I don’t want anything in—“

“I know. You said.”

The elevator dings and spills them into Tony’s parking lot. He used to have an obscene number of cars down here; he donated or sold most of them, but the Maserati holds a somewhat special place in his heart. Plus Peter deserves to experience that degree of luxury without having to ‘do anything in return’ for it.

“I just can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Tony says automatically, but he is undeniably disappointed. Crushed, even, in a way that’s probably quite disproportionate to this situation. “Don’t be. I didn’t want to impose anything—I didn’t mean to add stress to your life.”

He opens the backseat side door for Peter, who looks confused and doesn’t actually sit until he watches Tony walk around to get in the back as well.

Comprehension dawns. “Self-driving.” He smiles a little and settles in next to Tony. “Nice.” But the smile quickly fades as the Mas starts up. “I really am sorry.”

Maybe he’s sensing how disappointed Tony feels.

“Don’t be. Just know that if you change your mind, the offer stands. In fact, I hope you will call me the moment it does.”

Peter nods thoughtfully, and seems to burrow deeper into the hoodie.

They speed along the streets of Manhattan easily, as there isn’t much traffic at this hour, and a neutral silence envelops the car. Eventually, Peter leans his head against the window on his side.

 _What a fascinating creature_ , Tony finds himself thinking. Student by day, crime-fighting superhero by night, and sex-worker for the dusky moments in between. He wonders, as was inevitable, how on earth Peter ended up here at a mere eighteen years old—surely a story much more complex than a spider-bite on a school trip. And what an uncomfortable thought, to try to imagine who the first person was who paid money to do obscene things to this body. What an awful notion, to wonder how that must have come about, and why. This body that is clad in Tony’s clothes, comfortably resting in the back of Tony’s car. This body that can fling him from building to building, and lift a bus, and take a bullet—and make a man shell out hundreds of dollars a night.

“Can I ask you a question, Mr Stark?”

Tony’s chest twinges again, and he resolves to run a full diagnostic on the arc reactor when he gets back tonight.

“Shoot.”

Peter looks at him. “Does Jed think you... hired me?”

Oh he’s smart. Mustn’t forget that that body is host to a whip-smart brain. “Probably.”

He nods to himself. “Okay. Should I... tell him the truth? Next time I see him?”

“I don’t care.” He does, a little. But probably not in the way Peter thinks. “Do you _want_ to tell him the truth? Is he the jealous type?” Because if he is, Tony is going to have him murdered by one of his drones. “If it’ll make your life easier to reassure him he’s the only tech mogul who you see—“

“No. I think...” Peter swallows. “I don’t mind letting him think that you are also... hiring me. If... if that’s okay.”

“Oh. So you do want him to think that.”

“Yeah.”

Interesting.

“That’s fine by me, Peter. Let me know if there’s anything I can do—like I said, I’m here to help.”

“Thanks, sir.”

Will it drive up his rates, to imply that his services are in demand by the one and only Tony Stark? Is that why Peter wants to keep the ruse going?

“No problem.” They are almost at the address in Queens Peter gave to FRIDAY. “How is your shoulder feeling?”

“Hm? Oh it’s fine.” He rolls it to show off and determinedly doesn’t flinch, which isn’t fooling Tony anytime soon. “See?”

The car slows to a stop, and there’s a beat of silence.

“I really hate to drop you off at home instead of a hospital, kid, I’m not gonna lie.” The street is deserted but the large apartment building is clearly still alive despite the hour; muted music streaming from the one window, a loud argument coming from another... “If I had hired you, I’d at least be tipping generously for the inconvenience.”

Peter makes a little noise that’s a cross between a snort and a giggle. “If you had hired me, I don’t think it’d be my shoulder that was sore.”

And with that line, he smiles sweetly and gets out of the car.

“Thanks for everything, Mr Stark. Really.” The smile turns sincere, more sheepish. “I-I’m sure I’ll see you around.” He shuts the door and starts to walk away, and Tony finds himself sliding across the seats to the cushion he just vacated, to be closer to the window that FRIDAY conveniently rolls down.

“Come to the Tower next week,” he calls after him, and Peter turns in the middle of the sidewalk. Tony racks his brain and comes up with: “I’ll make you a new suit. It’s only fair, since I destroyed your last one.”

Peter hesitates for a second, but then he grins. “Okay. Deal.”

“And you’ll tell me how you found out about the arc reactor?”

“Nope.”

“So that’s a maybe.”

“’Night, Mr Stark.”

Tony grins down at his lap as the car starts to pull away, tight appreciation in his chest. What a brilliant, special kid. And how goddamn righteous, too, refusing Tony’s offer to the bitter end despite the ease it would afford him, just on the basis of principle.

But the elation is short-lived, as he is reminded of the polite request Peter made right before his parting quip. To keep letting Jed believe that Tony hired Peter.

If Jed believes it then by extension so will the select others he chooses to tell—and probably the tech industry rumor mill will latch on to the story soon enough. Hopefully the association with Tony’s name will afford Peter some sort of protection; maybe that’s what it’s about, and not about money or rates at all. Maybe Tony should help fuel the rumor, too—after all, he doesn’t give a shit about his reputation taking a nosedive for the first time in eight years, and if it might help Peter...

“ _Sir, you asked me to remind you that we’re trying to not stay up until 3am anymore_ ,” FRIDAY says into the silence.

“Today was an exception.” And completely worth it.

_“Very well, sir. Do you want me to classify Peter Parker as an exception in the system?”_

Without a moment’s hesitation, Tony says: “Yes.”

Peter is an exception all right. It’s been a long time since Tony has felt this way—unsettled, and outsmarted, and more than a little bit out of his depth.

_Does Jed think you... hired me?_

‘Hired’. What a neat little euphemism for ‘fucked’.

_Peter_

Tony Stark is Iron Man.

Tony freaking Stark is goddamn _Iron Man_ , and even before he found that out Peter wanted to sleep with him--now that he knows Stark is an action hero in addition to a charitable one, the whole thing seems even more unfair. Christ. And his MIT hoodie is draped over Peter’s desk chair, smelling of him still.

Peter’s life is pretty surreal at baseline, but the past couple of days have taken it to new extremes.

He can’t fall asleep despite the late hour, so he’s still awake around four in the morning when his phone beeps with a notification; the specific bell tone he’s set for his clients.

It’s Dr Banks’ burner account. He had booked Peter’s company for Friday night in advance but had only mentioned an event and not gotten into specifics—well, the specifics have arrived, as per Peter’s stipulations.

_Stark Industries’ 8 th annual charity concert_

_Hall C_

_The Ritz-Carlton Hotel_

_50 Central Park S_

_New York, NY 10019_

“...Oh crap.”

When he told Mr Stark he’d see him around, he’d suspected something like this might come up sooner or later.

He just didn’t think it would be this soon.

*

Dr Banks is the reason Peter found out about the arc reactor technology, and that reason is that Phillip Banks is Stark Industries’ CIO.

Phil likes to brag—not openly, not the way Jed does, but in his own way he is the worst kind of show-off. He’ll leave criminally expensive watches on the floor of his bedroom for Peter to find, or name-drop Jay-Z and then make it sound like a genuine accident. He also likes that Peter can appreciate how important his work is, and so he’ll leave his computers running throughout the night; the latest, most cutting-edge SI projects displayed for Peter to salivate over. He’s young, for a CIO—only in his late thirties, and he likes to bring that up too.

All that being said, he’s never shown off _Peter_ at an event before.

_I want you in the midnight-blue suit_

_We’ll tell people you’re my mentee through Columbia_

Peter ignores the texts during class, stomach rumbling. He has three days to figure out how he’s going to handle showing up at this event now that him and Tony Stark know each other’s secret identities. Mr Stark will probably make the arc reactor connection immediately when he realizes who has hired Peter’s services within his company, so he’ll have to talk to him beforehand or risk getting Phil fired.

_Kate will be there but we might just have to sneak away for a few minutes_

Oh yeah—Phil is married. To a woman.

He’s into the secrecy of it; the fact that it’s wrong and dirty. Peter’s stomach still turns at the thought of meeting his wife—it’s always easier when he can’t put a face to the name. He knows most of his clients are married, but it’s usually an unspoken agreement that the spouses won’t really come up during their time with Peter.

Ugh. He wishes he could get Phil fired. Phil sucks.

“...wants to take a shot at it. Anyone?”

The professor looks around the class hopefully. Silent, politely confused faces look back.

“Fine.” Dr Olusanya rolls her eyes with resignation and turns to him. “Mr Parker?”

“It’s an applied Bernoulli’s.”

“Care to explain it to the class?”

“Um. Sure.” He launches into the explanation while Dr Olusanya watches on, smiling helplessly and nodding along when he gets it right.

Two weeks into the semester, she had made him promise not to answer questions in class until literally nobody else could figure them out.

*

He’s walking away from campus when his phone buzzes again, this time from his regular ringtone.

“Hello?”

“ _Pete! It’s your best friend!_ ”

Peter breaks into a smile, and affects a confused voice. “MJ? Man, your voice changed recently.”

“ _How dare you_!”

He laughs. “How are you, man?”

“ _Good, good. How are you? How’s the hustle_?” Ned worries about Peter’s side-job a lot. It’s probably a good thing he doesn’t know about the one where Peter jumps in front of moving cars and fights crime. “ _You staying safe_?”

“Subtle.”

“ _Really? I wasn’t trying to be_.”

Peter sighs. “I’m fine. I told you I’ve got it under control. And I’m gonna quit when I graduate.”

“ _That’s still four years—ugh. Fine_.” They’ve had this argument too many times. “ _Still haven’t told May_?”

“Of course not, she’d flip.”

It's Ned’s turn to sigh. “ _Yeah, I know. It’s okay, you can keep talking to me about it. I’m here for you._ ” Sometimes it kills Peter, how blindly supportive Ned is, even about this. He misses him so much—him and MJ have been gone for six months now.

He’s so damn lonely.

“ _So... any fun events recently? Or more useless bling? Gossip?_ ”

Well. Technically, it happened before his secret identity as Spider-Man entered the picture. “I met Tony Stark.”

“ _No freaking way_!”

He retells a heavily edited version of his meeting with Mr Stark while walking to the subway, and fanboying with Ned does make him feel a bit better, a little less alone for a moment.

But then he sees something that stops him in his tracks, as well as mid-sentence.

There’s a man in a suit standing at the subway entrance, with a sign that says ‘Peter Parker’. Like at an airport pickup, except this is anything but that.

“I, uh—Ned, I’m gonna have to call you back.”

“ _Are you oka_ —“

He hangs up, staring.

“Hello Mr Parker,” the man says. He seems certain to be speaking to the right person.

If he’s some sort of crazy stalker... or if he figured out Peter’s ultimate secret...

“I work for Tony Stark.”

The homeless man sitting on the subway steps raises his eyebrows.

“I’m here to drive you to your check-up.”

“My... check-up.”

“Yes. With the doctor.”

Peter silently weighs his options. There are people all around them on the street, and if he wanted to run he is certain he’d get away; his web shooters are concealed under his hoodie sleeves, after all. But if this man really does work for Mr Stark then Peter probably wants to find out what’s going on here.

“The car is right around the corner, if you’ll just follow me.”

Still, Peter hesitates. It’s like every cautionary tale ever, and he’s not stupid.

As the silence stretches on, the homeless man stands up. “Hey man, this kid doesn’t seem to know what you’re talking about.”

Peter’s heart clenches with gratitude. “It’s—thank you. It’s okay, I had just... forgotten.” He looks at the stranger and his funny little sign, and an idea forms. “If you do work for Mr Stark, you must know what Mr Stark offered to do for me the first time we met,” he says.

It’s a gamble, since the odds of Mr Stark divulging such an offer to a random henchman aren’t exactly a hundred percent, but the man nods.

“Okay. Then you should be able to inform him of the fact that I will agree to it for one day. Today, actually. And that I want the amount in full, in cash, now.”

The henchman gapes at him.

“And I want you to give it to him before I agree to go with you.” He points at the man on the steps, who seems to be growing more confused by the second.

“Are... are you serious.”

“Yup. I’ll wait here.” He crosses his arms over his chest and squares his shoulders. “I’ll go with you once he gets the money.”

Mr Stark’s henchman stares at him for a long moment, and then he tosses the ‘Peter Parker’ sign in the garbage and takes out his phone. “I gotta make a few phone calls.”

“I’ll wait,” Peter repeats cheerfully, and watches him walk away. He turns to the man on the steps. “What’s your name, sir?”

“Robert. Bob.”

“Nice to meet you, Bob. You want a kebab while we wait? I’m pretty hungry.” He always is, and he’d been counting on the extra five dollars for his fare, but this’ll be worth it. And he might be about to get a ride, anyway.

Bob’s eyes go filmy, and he nods. “Thanks, kid.”

Peter nods back.

*

Mr Stark’s man is called Happy Hogan, and he comes back around forty minutes later to find Peter and Bob eating kebabs by the subway entrance and having a grave conversation about PTSD and the war.

“Your demands,” Mr Hogan says to Peter, handing Bob a heavy rucksack.

“Thanks. I’ll see you around, Bob. Good luck.”

Bob is speechless, and Peter leaves with Mr Hogan before he can manage a single word. Hogan leads him to the Maserati Peter rode in last time, and instructs him to get into the back seat while he himself settles in to drive.

“Where are you taking me?” Peter asks him, mentally making schedule adjustments to account for this trip. He still has schoolwork to finish, and patrol to do. Not to mention a decision to make about how to tell Mr Stark about Phil Banks and the Stark Industries event.

“I’m taking you to see a doctor, I told you.” Hogan sighs. “Tony does shit like this—gestures, without thinking it through. Should’ve figured me showing up to whisk you away would make you suspicious. He didn’t tell you he’d arranged this?”

“He couldn’t. He doesn’t have my number.”

There’s a pause, and then Hogan chuckles. “That’s cute. I thought you were supposed to be some sort of escort-slash-tech genius?”

Peter feels instantly embarrassed at his naiveté.

“If Tony Stark wanted to call you, we would have called.” Hogan tilts his head and amends: “He probably did want to call, but I think he was afraid you’d refuse the check-up and so decided not to. I can already tell you’re stubborn. You two have that in common, which makes my life really easy. Thanks for that, by the way.”

“I almost did refuse,” Peter admits.

“I’m glad you didn’t. He said you got shot last night.” A tinge of concern has crept into Hogan’s voice, and Peter espies him looking at him from the rearview mirror. “How old are you, again?”

“What did he tell you about me, exactly?”

How many henchmen know about Peter being Spider-Man? And why did it take less than twenty-four hours for Mr Stark to start divulging his secret identity?

“That he met you at the gala and tried to offer you a ridiculous amount of money in exchange for nothing.” He makes it sound like Mr Stark does that every other week—he probably does, for all Peter knows. “And you said no, like some sort of saint. But then you turned out to be that Spider-Kid from TikTok my niece is obsessed with. And you refused to go to the hospital last night even though you’d been shot.”

Yeah, that’s everything.

“Seriously... are you safe, kid?”

They don’t understand that he has to do it. All of it.

“I’m not a kid,” Peter responds tiredly, and resigns himself to a doctor’s visit where he has to lie a bunch more. He lies so much these days that he’s really starting to pull them off.

*

The doctor is not what Peter was expecting. His name is Dr Strange, he’s _clearly_ magic, and he sees Peter in his ‘sanctum’, whatever that means, instead of a clinic. The fact that the man is obviously not fazed by Peter’s impossible supernatural abilities does make the visit pretty painless, however, and then Mr Hogan offers to drive him home after, so all in all it could have been worse.

It’s still later than Peter had hoped, and he is stressed and on edge by the time he says goodbye to Mr Hogan, who annoyingly does not drive away immediately and instead watches Peter walk into the building.

Worst of all, though, is that he runs into Porter on his way up to the apartment.

“Peter. You look tired.”

“M’fine.” He’s exhausted, and he really didn’t feel like seeing his landlord today of all days.

Porter frowns, his bushy brows drawing in in concern. “You gotta take better care of yourself, kiddo.”

Peter keeps walking down the hall, and doesn’t answer.

In truth, it was Mr Porter who gave him the idea—he’s how it all started; the sex work. Peter was fifteen at the time, and Uncle Ben had died six months before. May lived in a fog of depression those first few months... she’d only eat if Peter fed her, had to take leave from work, and, apparently, forgot to pay the rent. Twice.

Porter had suggested Peter make up the money in other ways.

He only did it the one time, and it would be another two years before he found himself having to resort to sex work on a regular basis. But the feeling of having no other choice... of being fifteen and feeling trapped in that decision despite his super strength, his ability to jump between buildings... well. Seeing Mr Porter never puts him in a good mood.

“Peter? Is that you?”

“Who else would it... be.”

Oh.

The night has one more surprise in store for him.

Tony Stark is on his couch, with his aunt.


	3. When the Levy Breaks

_Peter_

“What the—“

“Peter, so good to see you again,” Stark says immediately. “I was catching up your lovely aunt on your internship, and I figured I’d drop by those materials we talked about.”

“Those... materials...?”

Mr Stark lifts a sports bag from the floor for him to see. “The project you’ll be working on about the arc reactor core. I figured, in case you wanted to get started tonight, I was in the neighborhood and could just drop it off.”

It occurs to Peter immediately that Mr Hogan wasn’t just lingering for him to enter the building—he straight up didn’t drive away, he must still be parked down there, waiting for Mr Stark.

May looks stunned and delighted and more than a little incredulous, but she seems willing to ride out this turn of events.

“Peter I can’t believe you kept this a secret from me,” she says, eyes wide. Peter knows she has felt the distance between them grow over time as his secrets piled up, but she’s never directly accused him of lying to her. Ultimately, she doesn’t know enough about either of his double-lives to be in danger, and that’s what matters. “You know _Tony Stark_?”

“We... met recently,” Peter manages. Then: “This internship is totally new. Mr Stark, you really didn’t have to come in person—“

“I know I didn’t have to; I wanted to.” Stark stands from the couch and shrugs. “I was in the area, like I said.”

 _Your driver was in the area_ , Peter thinks.

“Can we talk for a second?”

Stark is asking May, not Peter.

“Of course.” She motions towards Peter’s bedroom, which is his usual beeline when he gets home if they don’t have an unexpected guest billionaire in the living room. When Mr Stark glances in that direction she mouths ‘ _Oh my God_!’ at Peter before quickly schooling her features back to normal. “Dinner will be ready in twenty, okay Peter?”

“Yeah. Thanks, May.”

He walks Mr Stark to his room, mentally cataloguing the expensive tread of his loafers, the swish of the fabric of his blazer against his Guns N’ Roses T-shirt, and the low hum of static coming from the duffel bag.

He shuts the door behind them and this moment, this surreal moment he’s dreamed of for ever is here, it’s happening right now: _Tony Stark is in his bedroom_.

And instead of turned on or awed or ecstatic, Peter is dismayed.

“Mr Stark!” he hisses. “My aunt doesn’t know anything about—anything that I do! The powers, the, the—my job... she doesn’t know!” He runs a hand through his hair, grabbing it as the stress of the past few seconds builds up in him. “All of this, a lot of this, I do it for her, and if she knew... she would freak. She’d never forgive me. Worse, she’d never forgive herself.” _Tony does shit like this—gestures, without thinking it through._ “She doesn’t know that I’m Spider-Man and she definitely doesn’t know what I do for money, or who I do it with. And now I’m going to have to lie to her about this fake internship, too.” He does it so much, but he _hates_ lying to her. He can hear his voice getting frayed. “You could have warned me you were coming. I could have prepared. I could have told you not to—“

“Happy told me what you did. For that homeless man today.”

Peter’s momentum stalls. Is he about to get yelled at for accepting and then immediately giving away ten thousand dollars? “I. Uh. Didn’t think you’d—“

“Oh I’m not mad. I’m not even miffed, I’m glad you did that. It’s why—I hadn’t planned on coming here tonight, but I just—“ Stark sighs, concern etched all across his features. “I’m sorry, but I had hoped that meant you changed your mind.”

No. “No.”

“Oh.”

“It was just a one-time thing. I haven’t—I still can’t accept your money like that. Not unless you—“

“I don’t.”

Immediate, and okay, _ouch_ that still stings.

There’s a few beats of tense silence during which Mr Stark looks around the tiny little room, and Peter looks at him. He notes the way Mr Stark’s mouth lifts briefly at the corner when he spots the trapdoor in the ceiling Peter had thought himself so clever for hiding, and notes the way Mr Stark takes in the bunk bed, the clutter, the scavenged electronics Peter has scattered about, and the chair piled high with clothes that are too dirty for the closet but too clean to be washed. It sure doesn’t hold a candle to the Stark Tower penthouse suite, with its miles of plush carpet and quietly expensive furniture. No silk bathrobes here, either.

Stark’s hair is artfully tousled and his beard neatly trimmed, all of it devastatingly appealing and entirely out of place, for all the times Peter has imagined him in this space. His ‘ _I don’t’_ was super fast, but he’s always eschewed sexual labels so Peter’s pretty sure it’s not his gender that doesn’t appeal to him—just Peter himself. Ugh.

“I did have another reason for coming here in person,” Stark says, gaze returning to meet Peter’s, and Peter’s heart stops.

“...Oh?”

“I wanted to drop off the suit in person in case you tried to patrol without it tonight.” The duffel is conspicuously dropped to the floor, and as it falls so do Peter’s desperate hopes. “Because it occurred to me that that might be a thing you might try, and that I shouldn’t wait a week to get it to you as I originally planned.”

“Oh. Thank you.” In truth, he was going to use his tattered backup onesie. He wants to ask Mr Stark how he managed to design and produce a suit for him in less than a day, but chickens out. “You... really didn’t have to.”

“I really did. How’s your shoulder?”

“Good. S’fine. All healed up.”

“Good, good. Glad to hear it.”

There’s another pause, but this time Mr Stark is looking straight at him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call in advance, Peter.”

“It’s okay, I. I just. My aunt—“

“Is clearly very important to you. I didn’t mean to add another lie to your plate. I am very sorry if I made your life even more complicated. That’s the last thing I want.”

Peter lets out a small sigh. “I would have just liked a heads up. That’s it.” He feels himself blush. “M’sorry. I _am_ grateful, for the suit and everything.”

“That’s quite all right.” He nods. “Let me know if this works out for you. We can discuss modifications if you need them. Anytime.”

He turns as if to leave, and Peter steps forward. “Wait, there’s actually—I was hoping to talk to you about something.”

Mr Stark turns back around and gestures magnanimously. “Sure. What is it?”

“I, uh...” How to frame this. “I know there’s a charity concert coming up on Friday, hosted by Stark Industries.”

Stark starts to frown, then sighs. “Jed’s taking you again? I didn’t think we’d invited his people.”

“No, not... not Jed.”

“Oh.”

For a moment, Peter thinks they’ll just sit in the discomfort and that Mr Stark isn’t going to ask him—

“Who, then?”

“Uh... Dr Banks. Phillip Banks.”

Mr Stark’s features slacken in surprise and he abruptly straightens. “My CIO? That Phil Banks?”

Peter nods.

“Phil Banks who is married to Kathy—“

“Kate—“

“Whatever. _That_ Phil Banks?”

“Um—“

“How did that happen?” It’s not a rhetorical exclamation, it’s a pointed question; almost a demand, actually.

In truth, Peter met Dr Banks during a guest lecture at Columbia. It was how he suddenly entered the big leagues—a complex equation and Dr Banks’ pointed interest in the only person who solved it correctly.

Porter the landlord was technically his first, but Phillip Banks is the person that got Peter contracts with the most powerful men in the tech industry; these moguls who secretly and not-so-secretly enjoy a night with a young escort who will understand the depth of their genius enough to admire them just the way they want. He was the one who referred Peter to Jed.

“...Does it matter?”

_Tony_

Of course it fucking matters.

Of course it... God, fucking _Phil_ , of all people...? Laying hands on this kid, taking him to expensive hotels, probably, since he can’t take him home where his wife lives... Or maybe he has an apartment in the city that he keeps just to see Peter in. He’s such a goddamn a show-off, his version of pillow-talk probably involves him reciting his own accomplishments—

And then it hits him.

“The arc reactor core. He told you about it?”

Peter looks like he was bracing for this realization.

“Um. Not exactly.”

“But he’s how you found out.”

It’s actually perfect, because now Tony can fire him. And sue him. And destroy his life.

“He’s a dead man walking.”

“Mr Stark, wait—“

“I’m going to bury him and I am going to make sure no one in the industry is going to hire him ever again, and then I’m going to anonymously tell his wife about what he’s been doing so that—“

“Wait, wait, you can’t do that! He’ll know it was me.”

Peter sounds afraid, on top of exhausted (Tony has been itching to ask him to lie down ever since he saw him walk in). His messy hair probably needs a wash and his lips are pale and chapped, but he’s stretched out his hands like he’s trying to physically stop Tony from making good on his threats.

“I need you to—I was hoping you could just act like you don’t know. About my job.”

 _No_. “I can’t do that, Peter.” The fury coursing through him feels similar to the level of anger he felt at Peter’s glib little comment about size, and the thought of someone hurting him during sex. Unstoppable.

“I—please. Please, sir, I—he could ruin my life, if he wanted.”

“I’d protect—“

“You can’t keep him from five minutes on the internet, and that’s all it would take. If he has nothing to lose he’ll do it for sure, please. My academic future. My... entire future.”

 _My academic future_.

Phil guest lectures at Columbia.

Tony’s fury ratchets up even higher, even though he thought he was past the boiling point. He has an inkling of how Peter might have crossed Phil’s path after all.

“Okay.” He’s thinking. He doesn’t want to upset Peter but he also very much wants to kill Phil, so he has to find a middle ground here. “Okay, I won’t... fire him. Or tell him I know.” But then a neat solution occurs to him. “We’ll just let him think what Jed thinks. That you’re mine now.”

Peter blushes violently. “I... huh?”

“You can’t see him anymore, obviously, and I can’t have him spouting company secrets to his nightly companions.” It’s perfect. “I want him nervous and scared but not enough that he blabs about you. So. You should come to the concert anyway, but as my guest, not his.”

After a moment’s processing, Peter drops down to sit on his bed.

“You...”

He’s staring at the floor, unseeing.

“Mr Stark, that’s... really generous, but won’t other people...?”

“You said you’re enrolled at MIT too, right? You do some of our online modules?”

“Yes, but I—“

“I bring students to these events all the time.” It’s not untrue, in that he has invited groups of students and more than a few TAs to join along with his favorite professors, but he’s never singled out a particular student before, precisely because of the problematic implications attached to such behavior. And, of course, so as not to give said student the wrong impression. “I don’t think it’ll cause a scandal.”

“Okay, but Phil—“

“Phil, Jed... I couldn’t care less what they think. And their necks are on the line, too. Legally, even.” A painful question he had been working very, very hard not to ask the past few days climbs from the knot in his chest up out of his mouth. “How long have you—“

“Last year, for both of them.” Peter sighs quietly. “I was seventeen. It was legal in the state of New York. Not the, uh, ‘for money’ part, but you know what I mean.”

That information affords Tony no relief. “I do.”

The urge to offer him a million dollars—two million, _ten_ million, to ease the look on Peter’s face, is hard to fight.

“What should I tell Phil, then?”

“Tell him I already invited you. So you’re going to have to politely decline, but you’ll see him there.”

Peter nods. He hunches his shoulders, and Tony wonders if he is cold. He shrugs off his blazer and Peter looks up at him, confused until Tony drapes it over him. He was already wearing a hoodie so the effect is a bit silly and excessive.

“I. Thank you.” His voice sounds thin, like one more unwanted gesture from Tony is going to send him over the edge, and Tony gets that he’s overstayed his already tenuous welcome.

“I’ll see you on Friday, Pete.”

“Okay. Yes.”

Tony leaves, stopping for just a minute of small-talk with Peter’s gorgeous Aunt, who is stirring a pot of instant noodles. She says: “It was very nice of you to drop by.” And then whispers: “He _worships_ you. Just don’t tell him I said that.” And winks.

Tony winks back and walks out, and tries not to remember...

_“What do you want first?” Breathy and eager, and he’d leaned forward—_

Happy complains that he’s distracted on the drive back.

*

“Oh, _come on_.” Rhodey looks to be at the end of his rope, and here Tony thought he gave an excellent retelling to summarize the past few days’ events. “You’re telling me your newest pet project is this... this charity case you’re going to ‘save’ in order to lighten your guilty conscience?”

“He’s not my first charity case, Rhodes.”

“I know that, and I’m sure he ain’t gonna be your last. But man, this seems... I don’t know. Different. Dangerous.” He sets his coffee cup on Tony’s kitchen counter with conclusive force. “I don’t like it.”

“Dangerous?” Tony echoes, though a part of him finds Rhodey’s use of the word strangely apt. “How?”

“You’re over-invested. I can tell.” Rhodey taps his temple like he’s implying telepathy, which as far as Tony is aware remains exclusively within Wanda Maximoff’s purview. “That always lands us in trouble. And please notice I said ‘us’, because I inevitably get dragged into your shit.”

“I’m just trying to help him; I’m not trying to ‘save’ him.”

“Oh yes you are. You tried to give him money and when that didn’t work you had Happy kidnap him and take him to Strange. And then you showed up at his _house_?”

Tony finds that he has to stand up and start washing dishes, or risk not knowing what to do with his hands.

“He knew about the arc reactor core.” He scrubs a whiskey glass that’s been in his sink since last night. The urge to have another one now (at nine freaking a.m.) is there, but he ignores it. He’s got a headache from the too-bright morning sunlight as it is. “I couldn’t just let that slide.”

“So you had to bring a super-suit to his _house_? Those two things don’t seem related.”

“No, that’s just... what started all this. Turns out my goddamn CIO had hired him. But you didn’t see...” The sallow, drained complexion. The obvious exhaustion. The bullet wound, the trite importance it seemed to have to Peter, what that meant. And before all that; the vulnerable air with which he had carried himself on Jed’s arm, his purple blush in the bathroom lighting, the practiced way with which he sank to his knees. Happy relaying the story about the homeless man was simply the drop that spilled the glass. “He’s in a bad place, that kid. He needs help.”

“The eighteen-year-old hooker is in a bad place? You don’t say.” Rhodey sighs, voice gone quiet. “I’m not saying he doesn’t need help, or that you’re wrong to try to provide it. I just... you only do this crazy shit when you’re obsessed with something or in love with someone, and I worry about you becoming obsessed with someone. Haven’t seen that combination happen before.”

A plate clangs onto the drying rack, almost chipping the ceramic.

“And what’s the deal with him and the CIO guy anyway? What are you going to do about that?”

Right, he neglected to mention. “Oh I stopped that. He won’t be seeing Phil anymore.”

“...So you just cost the kid hundreds of dollars?”

“I...”

Shit.

 _Shit_.

He didn’t even realize that.

“I. Can’t believe I didn’t think of that.”

“For fuck’s sake, Tony. He won’t take your money if you’re not... using his services, right?” Rhodey adds, looking like the words tasted bad in his mouth.

“No, he’s got a strict code, that one.”

“Or he really wants you to use his services,” Rhodey mutters, and Tony glares at him over his shoulder.

“He’s an eighteen-year-old engineer, I’m featured in every textbook he owns.”

“I’m sorry, was that supposed to be a comeback? Because that’s an incentive, for a kid like that. Your sex tape was probably his first porn.”

“My sex tape came out when he was an infant.”

“Doesn’t mean he didn’t watch it at the right time. The internet is forever, remember?”

_He worships you._

But Peter’s dismay and continued refusal to take Tony’s money tell him all he needs to know.

“Whatever. I’ll find a way to get him the money on Friday—he’s coming to the concert as my guest, not Phil’s. Give that asshole a bit of a scare.”

Rhodey doesn’t say anything in response to that, and enough time passes that Tony feels compelled to look over his shoulder again.

“...What?”

‘Pity’ is what comes to mind when Tony attempts to label what’s in Rhodey’s eyes.

“ _What_?”

"You're bringing him to the concert as your guest."

"Yeah, so?"

“Tony, you’re not... into this kid, are you?”

“You’re _kidding_ me, right?”

Rhodey’s eyebrows shoot up. “What? It’s not technically illegal, and he’s a superhero tech genius who needs saving. With a heart of gold.” As he listens to himself say the words, Rhodey’s voice grows in conviction. “He’s a vulnerable, broken problem for you to fix and he comes in a pretty package to boot. I can’t believe I didn’t realize it earlier, of course you’re acting weird—“

“Rhodes, come on—“

“So you’re saying ‘no’?”

Tony’s head really hurts at this point. “Do you really think so little of me? He’s a child.”

 _He’s not_.

“He’s really not, Tony.”

That doesn’t mean... that still doesn’t...

“What. You’re telling me you haven’t even thought about it?”

The plate slips from his grasp and this time it does smash to the floor, saving him from answering.

_Peter_

“Tony Stark. Tony freaking _Stark_!”

Peter has to chuckle at May’s enthusiasm. It’s been two days since Mr Stark stopped by their apartment and she’s still talking about it. “I was gonna tell you.”

“Were you?” she sets her folded work uniform down and grabs a pair of Peter’s pajama bottoms from the pile. “Geez, Peter. This internship must be intense if you’ve got the CEO of Stark Industries showing up at our apartment!”

Peter smiles weakly. “He’s not the CEO anymore.”

“Right, that’s the part that’s crazy out of what I just said,” May shakes her head. “My goodness. I’ve always know you were my little genius, but this... this is amazing.” She smiles proudly at him, and Peter’s heart aches. “Well done, honey.”

“Thanks, May.”

She nods, and her eyes gleam but she doesn’t cry, just keeps folding clothes and acting casual. Peter pretends he didn’t notice and helps her in silence for a bit, tucking his socks into pairs the way Ben showed him. He’s had two good patrols in the supple fabric suit Mr Stark gave him and the internet is loving his new look already—the ad revenue from the videos he uploaded alone is going to fully fund his anonymous donation to Mr Delmar’s store restoration Kickstarter. All in all, it’s been a good couple of days.

“Where’d you get these?”

Peter looks up, and his heart stutters.

He forgot to hand-wash Mr Stark’s jeans, and they ended up mixed in with their other laundry. May is holding them with a confused look on her face.

“These are... fancy.” May deftly flips the label and her eyes widen. “Pete, these are _designer_. We can’t afford these.”

“N-no, I...” He what. He _what_. “I got them as a present.”

“A present?”

Please don’t ask, please don’t ask—

“A present from who?”

“I.” Fuck. “The internship has... perks.”

May’s eyebrows shoot up. “You have a clothing budget?” She looks unnerved, and there’s a moment where Peter looks into her eyes and is convinced she’s about to accuse him of every single lie he’s told for the past four years. But then something in her seems to relent. “That doesn’t seem... typical of a tech internship.”

“Y-yeah I thought so, too.” He has to look away, or he’ll be the one crying at the disappointment on her face. “But Mr Stark said we represent the company, so we have to look good doing it.” He shrugs. “I wasn’t about to question free clothes. He gave me an MIT hoodie, too, when he found out I’m taking some of their classes,” he adds, because he might as well go for it.

“...Right. Well, that’s... very nice of him.”

He grabs the full basket and starts walking to his room—he has to make more web fluid before patrol tonight, and he suddenly can’t stand to be in the same room as May and feel her quiet worry.

“Peter?”

He turns to look at her. The laundry basket barely registers as a weight to his super-powered muscles, but something feels heavy.

“You know you can talk to me, right? If there’s... anything you want to talk about.”

He knows she feels guilty because she couldn’t talk about Ben for so long and still can't. He knows she thinks she started this, the secrets thing, because she couldn’t open up to him about her grief and it still goes unsaid between them, undiscussed to this day.

It kills him, but he pastes on a smile and nods. “’Course, May. Always.”

*

The Stark Industries charity concert invites musicians from underrepresented backgrounds who don’t have formal musical training to play for an elite audience. Ever since the first one Stark hosted after coming back from his kidnapping, it’s become a tradition that every single musician leaves the night with a paid-for education if they so choose (or a hefty check if they don't), and Peter remembers poring over their bios and even following the careers of one or two on Instagram after they made it big.

It’s such a great cause, and the ticket revenue is invested intelligently, and if these were different circumstances Peter would be so excited to be here.

Instead, he’s nervous.

He’s nervous to see Mr Stark again in this context, nervous to run into Phillip or Jed or another of his clients, and nervous to have nobody to talk to. Phillip didn’t respond to Peter’s carefully worded polite decline of his invitation, and that can’t be good. Jed messaged him to request another date with extras and now he wonders whether Mr Stark will be at that event, too, and whether it says something really tragic about Peter that he feels self-conscious about Mr Stark seeing him with Jed again, even though Mr Stark already knows what he does for money.

He's so anxious that he thought about texting Ned a half-baked truth about attending the concert and hoping to see Mr Stark there (as though he doesn’t know for sure that he will) but ended up keeping tonight’s events to himself. Talking to Ned about Mr Stark without getting into their superhero connection seems like a complicated minefield, and will involve more lies than Peter has the energy to fabricate right now.

"Parker? Great, come with me."

He is stopped at the door by the usher and taken aside immediately, while the glamorous guests continue to file in after their electronic invite has been carefully checked.

“It’s nice to meet you, man. Mr Stark’s guy Hogan came down personally to make sure we all kept an eye out for you.” He sounds proud of having been the one to recognize Peter’s name. He’s also probably around Peter’s age. “You got friends in high places, huh?”

Peter follows him to a service door to the right of the hotel lobby and they walk down a corridor where other hotel staff are clearly working hard on the preparations. “Something like that, I guess.” ‘Friends’. Is that what him and Mr Stark are going to become? Do their shared superhero secrets and passion for science make them friends, despite their different backgrounds? “Where are you taking me?” he asks eventually.

“There’s a VIP area some people hang out in before the concert starts.”

Peter’s heart-rate speeds up to a frantic hum. “Oh.”

It’s a glam version of a waiting room that must be close enough to the main area that Peter can hear the musicians tuning their instruments, and there are only a couple dozen people milling about.

Mr Stark is one of them.

“Good, you’re here.”

He rudely interrupts whoever he was speaking with to walk over to Peter the moment Peter steps inside. Peter doesn’t even feel like he’s been able to take a proper gander of the room before his recently befriended billionaire is standing right in front of him.

“How are you? How’s the shoulder?”

It’s possible Mr Stark doesn’t notice the way every single head turns their way, either briefly or permanently. Maybe he’s so used to commanding people’s attention that it doesn’t register. Peter, however, can definitely not claim to be built the same, and his spidey-senses prickle and buzz, as the not-entirely-positive reactions from the crowd wash over him.

“Pete?”

“Hm? Oh I’m good. Shoulder healed a couple of days ago, it’s fine.” The theme underlying everyone’s stares seems to be ‘curiosity’. “I do feel a bit underdressed, to be honest.”

He wore the black suit specifically because Phil had instructed him to wear the blue one, but it’s definitely not quite up to par with what most people here seem to be wearing; namely, dresses and tuxes.

“Nonsense. Also that doesn’t matter.” Mr Stark is wearing a wine-colored tux with black lapel and he looks so good it makes Peter’s mouth literally water. “Anyway I’m glad you’re here in time, I wanted you to meet some people before we go in for the concert.”

“Meet...?” But before he can finish his question, Mr Stark has flagged two men over, _both_ of whom Peter recognizes with a jolt.

Commander Rhodes (who Peter recently found out is freaking _War Machine_ ) and Dr Bruce Banner are also wearing tuxes, in silver-and-black and deep dark purple, respectively.

“Oh my God,” Peter whispers faintly.

“This is him?” the Commander asks Stark, who nods. “Hey, kid. I’m Rhodey.”

“Hi.” Peter shakes his hand. “I’m Peter.”

“And I’m Bruce.”

“I know.” Oh my God. “Dr Banner, I am such a fan.” He needs to shut up. “I’ve read every paper you’ve ever published.” _Shut up, Peter_. “Even got my friend Ned to hack the ones behind a paywall.” The last time he let himself ramble he gave away the fact that he knew about Stark Industries' arc reactor core program, he needs to _stop talking_. “I mean, I-I’m sorry—“

“Oh no, please don’t apologize. It’s always nice to meet a, uh, fan. That doesn’t happen to me a lot.” Banner seems sheepish but genuinely unbothered by Peter’s enthusiasm. “I’m glad you made me come to this, Tony,” he adds, giving Mr Stark a small smile. “No matter how last minute.”

Peter picks up on that. “Last minute?”

 _I wish I could meet him_ , he had said the other night, unthinkingly. Is that why...?

“I’m not a fan of public events,” Banner says, adjusting his glasses with a little shrug. “And the public isn’t necessarily a fan of me.”

He’s certainly one of the more ‘controversial’ superheroes out there... nothing like the patriotic Captain and Falcon duo, or the beloved Iron Man, of course.

“But I owe Tony a few favors.”

Peter opens his mouth to ask Mr Stark if he did this for him.

“Nonsense, you're doing me the favor here. And Peter, next time just shoot him or me an email and we’ll get you access to whatever paper you want to read,” Mr Stark adds. “Academia is elitist.”

“Yeah, kid, just let us know if you want to read a paper, own a car, pilot an aircraft... be let in on a secret that only twelve people in the world are privy to...” Commander Rhodes says, looking at Mr Stark, and suddenly Peter is desperately curious to know who else is privy to Mr Stark’s secret identity.

“He makes thirteen,” Stark remarks.

“Lucky,” Rhodes mutters. He doesn’t seem upset, exactly, and he’s not looking at Peter as though he’s to blame, but there’s a definite weariness to him. Peter supposes he can understand how, from Rhodey’s perspective, a young sex-worker showed up out of nowhere and wormed his way into his best friend’s inner circle in a matter of days. Maybe he’s not thrilled about that.

“So tell me about your research, Peter,” Banner asks him. “Tony says you’re pretty brilliant, and for Tony to say that—“

But Peter’s spidey-sense just alerted him that something’s wrong, and he looks over his shoulder to identify the cause.

His stomach turns when he spots Phillip walking into the room with a woman on his arm. Shit.

“Do I have time to use the bathroom?” he blurts, interrupting his scientific idol.

“Definitely. It’s through there,” Mr Stark points, and Peter immediately takes off, hoping he left quickly enough that Phillip didn’t see him.

A narrow carpeted corridor leads to the restroom and Peter shuts the door behind him feeling like he’s barricading himself in. But it would probably be a touch excessive to lever the chair in the corner under the knob, even though that’s what his instincts are telling him to do.

He glances at himself in the mirror while he stands there, and suddenly feels sick. Sick with himself and with the situation and with the memories of what Phil has paid him to do, sick at the thought of his poor wife, all the wives whose husbands have touched him. A wave of nausea washes over him, not for the first time because he has these moments at least once every couple of months, but his usual fix is to fling himself into the air and try to help people on patrol.

That’s not an option right now, and he can’t avoid Phillip the entire event, he knows that. He knew that coming here.

The door is flung open.

“I knew it,” Phillip rasps, eyes wide. “I knew it was you.”

_Tony_

He notices Phillip walking to the bathroom after Peter out of the corner of his eye and it's the easiest decision in the world to follow him out, cutting off the Prime Minister of Canada mid-sentence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so incredibly happy by the reception this fic has had so far--thank you all for your kudos, comments and bookmarks, THEY GENUINELY MAKE MY DAY AND FUEL ME!!!
> 
> There was always going to be a fair bit of angst given the subject matter, but rest assured poor Peter is Going Through It but will get the ending he deserves <3


End file.
